


Rave Kids

by LPM



Series: Lone Wolf and Lil Red [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Fingerfucking, Hook-Up, M/M, Rave, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 06:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LPM/pseuds/LPM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Like what you see?” Stiles asks cheekily, boldly, staring the other man dead in the eye. The Lone Wolf’s gaze never falters, simply rakes a blazing trail from Stiles’ face to his toes and back.<br/>“Yeah.” He says. One hard word and Stiles is melting into his touch.</p><p>Stiles goes to a rave with Scott and Allison and meets a dark haired stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rave Kids

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Guys it's the first Sterek I finished and it was really rough but I had fun! I haven’t written slash in years, not since my Harry Potter days >>, so I’m not too great at it anymore. This story came to me while listening to some truly awesome stuff and reminiscing about an EDM show I went to recently. Then I remembered that raves happen in Teen Wolf, even though they really gloss over the whole…MDMA element (Matt’s “is it a rave if you’re not rolling” comment doesn’t count). Anyways, this universe is built on the foundation of pre-established Teen Wolf cast relationships, only tweaked. They all go to school together though they have just met Derek, obviously. Also this is not a supernatural universe, eeerbody’s human!

The music is too loud and there are too many people. The ground feels sticky and no one seems to care. One girl is even barefoot. Stiles groans, he wonders how Scott always manages to drag him to these things.

 

“I LOVE THIS GUY!!!” a random girl shouts in his ear, around the mangled pacifier jammed in her mouth. Stiles grimaces at her and shuffles off quickly, before she decides she likes him and sticks around.

 

He’s at a rave, of course, having been forced into it by his erstwhile best friend Scott. Stiles has nothing against raving, he can get pretty wild if the mood hits him hard enough, but now is just not a good time. When he had made excuses to Scott a few days ago, Stiles had rambled about things like “midterms are coming up” and “I don’t have anything to wear to a rave!” but those were all pretty lame excuses. The real reason Stiles hadn’t wanted to come tonight, is the same reason he is now in the middle of a rave, sober, and Scott-less.

 

“Ugh.” He groans, rubbing a hand over his head. Scott is a great guy, really great! He’s considerate and kind and goofy and fun and Stiles fucking loves him…but ever since he found The One, he’s had a nasty penchant for ditching.

 

Allison Argent, the object of Scott’s puppy-eyed adoration, is really pretty, Stiles had to admit when he finally met the woman who’d been stealing his best friend. She’s also very clever and chill, she can beat Stiles at Call of Duty pretty much with her eyes closed. Stiles has nothing against Allison, he just doesn’t fancy being made to go out with The Couple as their pathetic third wheel friend who ends up spending the night entertaining himself until its time to go home. It’s happened often enough that Stiles already knows it’s more than possibility, its almost a definite fact.

 

“Stiles! Hey!” a blessedly familiar voice shouts at him from somewhere in the mosh of limbs and Stiles turns to see Lydia. She’s as damn beautiful as she always is, as she had been the first time Stiles ever saw her sitting haughtily on a shitty school café chair as if it were a throne. Her rave gear is as spectacular as ever, attracting the eye to all the right places and still somehow retaining that little bit of class that seems to cover everything she does.

 

“Hey! What’re you doing here!?” he shouts at her, and her glittery lips stretch into a wide smile,

 

“I’m _dancing_!!!” she exclaims, and flings her hands up. She and Stiles share a laugh, that’s an inside joke of theirs. Once she calms down, Lydia fixes him with A Look,

 

“No but seriously, I’m here with Jackson and Danny,” she says, pointedly looking at the air next to Stiles as if to comment on the obvious lack of people there. Stiles shrugs and crooks one corner of his mouth up in a half smile.

 

Lydia does a big eye roll and grabs his arm, tugging him roughly through the revelers on the dance floor. Stiles lets himself get pulled along, it isn’t as if Scott and Allison are waiting for him somewhere.

 

When they finally reach Jackson and Danny, Stiles remembers why he doesn’t go to raves sober. They’re terrible and there is nothing in his system to distract him from that.

 

“Stiiiiiiles!!!” Jackson exclaims jovially, clapping him on the back. Up close Stiles can see his pupils are blown wide. He half-smiles again and returns the oddly affectionate gesture. Of their entire friend group, Jackson is the prickliest, and it's a testament to how much of a “good time” he’s having that he managed anything more than a nod of welcome. Danny, gyrating wildly against some lanky blonde Stiles doesn’t know, only looks up and smiles quickly at him, before going back to doing whatever it was he had been doing with his mouth before.

 

“Hold this?” Lydia is saying, shoving her bright gold fanny pack into his hands. He clutches at the surprisingly heavy little package and stands still while Lydia rummages through it.

 

“A-ha!” she exclaims, grasping something and standing up. Stiles tries to get a look but its already tucked into her pocket.

 

 

* * *

 

They stand in the crowd of hyped up people for a while before they all go to the bar to take a break. Danny is attached to Blonde so he comes too. At the bar, Stiles sees Scott and Allison playing Tonsil Excavation which each other.

 

“THERE you are!” he shouts, going up to them. Scott looks pink-cheeked and dopey and Stiles will be damned if his heart doesn’t melt a little bit. Scott is like an adorable little brother who is bigger than him and also his same age. He is incapable of staying mad.

 

Lydia and Allison start talking about something or other and Jackson is inside his own head, humming absently and sipping water from a plastic cup. Scott and Stiles lean against the bar and eye the crowd.

 

Suddenly Stiles’ eyes are drawn to a lone figure, the only one not moving in a mass of waving arms and legs. He’s tall, and very powerfully built, posture erect and commanding. His dark hair is mussed in a devil-may-care fashion Stiles had never quite been able to perfect when he had hair. Despite being at a rave, he’s wearing all dark clothes. Fitted, dark jeans, some sort of dark shoes, and a charcoal gray v-neck that Stiles is sure hides nothing from the imagination in proper light.

Suddenly he turns and his eyes find Stiles’. An intense shiver passes through Stiles in that instance, rooting him to the spot. There is something deeply compelling about that dark gaze, but before Stiles can follow this train of thought, Lydia is shoving something into his hand to drink. He lifts the cup to his mouth absentmindedly; still thinking about the guy he’s decided to call the Lone Wolf because it doesn’t look like anyone else is there with him.

 

Later, he will blame what happens next on his lack of focus. Perhaps his fixation is what lets the strangely bitter taste of the water go unrecognized, perhaps it is what makes him miss the sneaky looks Allison and Lydia exchange. Either way, he isn’t aware something is up until it’s 45 minutes later and he’s shirtless, sliding against people on either side and not caring even a little bit.

* * *

 

 

“Stilesstilesstilesstilesstilesstilesssss!!!” Lydia squeals into his ear when he picks her up and twirls her. They’re both laughing when he sets her down.

 

Stiles doesn’t know what he was thinking earlier, raves are a blast! It’s a bit hot, sure, but nothing taking off his many layers of shirt hadn’t fixed. Now he’s left only in his nicest, skinniest jeans, the one concession he had made earlier when getting dressed, and he’s much more comfortable. Whoever it is that’s playing on stage now is phenomenal and Stiles is sure he can feel the music inside his bloodstream.

 

Jackson seems to materialize next to Lydia, who he grabs and spins until they’re crushed together. And then they’re making out, just like all his other friends seem to be doing. Danny and Blonde, whose name is something like Jack, have not let each other go since they first touched tongues, and of course Allison and Scott are out of sight, probably making use of the cleanest darkest, niche they could find. But Stiles doesn’t care anymore. With nobody to talk to, he flings himself into the music, and is only roused from his dancing haze when he feels eyes on him.

 

His eyes open and he turns on the spot, for some reason he really needs to know who was staring hard enough at him that he could _feel_ it; a gaze that swept hotly across his skin like a caress. When he meets eyes with the Lone Wolf, he knows instantly it was him. The unabashed intent in those eyes is potent and just a little dangerous. Enough to get Stiles’ juices going. He licks his dry lips and mutters to his friends about going to find water, then heads towards the still-staring man.

 

* * *

 

Lone Wolf is taller than him only by a little, but he makes up for it in sheer size. Stiles’ eyes rake appreciatively over his form and he’s suddenly certain what he wants from this stranger. When they are face-to-face and toe to toe, the heat that is nearly singeing them has nothing to do with whatever Lydia had put in his drink.

 

“Like what you see?” Stiles asks cheekily, boldly, staring the other man dead in the eye. The Lone Wolf’s gaze never falters, simply rakes a blazing trail from Stiles’ face to his toes and back.

 

“Yeah.” He says. One hard word and Stiles is melting into his touch.

* * *

 

Stiles does not know how they ended up in the, surprisingly clean, bathroom, or how Lone Wolf had become “Derek”. All he knows is that the man has a crazily skilled mouth and that it’s being put to good use.

 

“Stall…” Derek grinds out, taking a break from kissing Stiles breathless against the wall. They stumble into the largest stall and lock the door before continuing. Stiles’ skin feels like someone has casually lit him on fire, he’s burning up.

 

“Clothes!” he gasps, resorting to monosyllabic phrases. Derek only grunts, hands already making fast work of Stiles’ skinny jeans and briefs. Then comes his own shirt and Stiles can’t help but gasp at the olive expanse of perfectly toned abs.

 

“How are you even _doing_ that!?” He exclaims. His hands are already finding their way over the newly exposed skin, they trace over every firm swell and hard pane. Derek sucks in a breath and suddenly Stiles is being hoisted up. He groans when his back hits the cool wall.

 

Stiles is no stranger to hookups, despite his sort of geeky appearance. After leaving high school, a tragic virgin, he had found _a lot_ more available to him in university. After 3 years of testing the proverbial waters (of sex), Stiles has had his fair share of nameless fucks. Derek is the first after a long dry stretch, which might explain why Stiles is reduced to a squirming, begging mess so quickly.

 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” he’s panting against Derek’s shoulder. It’s so hot in the stall, hotter even than it had been outside in the mosh pit. His thighs are clenched like a vice around Derek’s torso, his dick rock hard and straining.

 

Derek pulls away; his gaze is heavy and intense, almost like a physical touch on Stiles’ fevered skin. His face is harsh with tightly controlled lust and his breathing is coming in short, hard bursts.

 

“ _Derek”_ Stiles whispers, and its almost like he had broken a floodgate inside his dark-haired companion. Derek groans and Stiles is put on his feet, turned so his chest is pressed against the wall and his ass is exposed. Stiles whimpers a complaint but Derek’s hands appear, hot and eager, against his cleft a moment later.

 

Stiles hears Derek squirt what must be lube onto his fingers, and then there is a breathless moment of anticipation before one of Derek’s fingers is pressing insistently at his entrance.

 

“Spread your legs for me,” Derek murmurs in his ear and his body bent over Stiles’ is radiating heat like a furnace. Stiles can’t help the noise that comes out of his mouth and he spreads his legs more, acutely aware of just how exposed he is like this.

 

“I saw you, you know” Derek is saying breathlessly, and another finger joins the first, feeling huge inside him after so long without anything. Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, feeling the slide of sweat down his neck and chest.

 

“I saw when you came in with your friends, I knew I wanted you,” Derek’s free hand is making tortuously slow work of Stiles’ nipples while a third finger joins the first two, stretching Stiles to readiness. He crooks them inside him and Stiles vision goes white around the edges, his cry is breathless and embarrassingly high pitched.

 

“You in those tight ass jeans, and then you took your fucking shirt off. How could I say no?” Stiles feels Derek’s lips at his neck, and then the dull scrape of teeth. He bends his head back, exposing more of his pale throat to Derek who groans appreciatively.

 

“nnngggkk” Stiles says. He’s ready, _so_ ready to take Derek inside him, to finally feel the burning stretch of it. “Derek,” he pants, “now, I need…I want…please, now, inside me.”

 

The breath Derek lets go sounds almost pained, but his fingers leave Stiles and, briefly, the sound of a condom being opened and rolled on is the only thing accompanying the orchestra of their panting. Then Derek turns him and kisses him again, Stiles can feel the rock-hard thickness of his cock pressing against his own and moans loudly.

 

“Nice goin!”

 

“Score!”

 

“Can I come too!!??”

 

a bunch of people outside their stall yell jokingly. Stiles looks at Derek and they share an eyeroll.

 

“Weirdos” he says, Derek’s answering smile is small and cursory. He picks Stiles up again, as if he’s some featherweight, and holds him up with one arm, while the other positions his dick at Stiles’ hole.

 

“You’d think they’d consider other people’s privacyyyyeeeooooohhh” Stiles says, his sentence ending in a drawn-out moan as Derek pushes inside him.

 

Derek’s eyes are shut tight, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip, his control unraveling quickly.

“You’re so tight” he bites out, fingers clutching Stiles’ hips hard enough to bruise. Stiles mouth is gaping open and he drags in huge gulps of air like he had recently been drowning. He flexes his fingers against Derek’s tense shoulders and tips his head back; eyes squeezed shut against the torrent of sensations assaulting him. It’s painful, Derek makes the three fingers he’d had inside him feel like nothing, but glinting along the edges of that pain is a knife-edge of blinding pleasure that grows as the moments pass by.

 

“Fuck, Derek, _fuck_!” Stiles jerks when Derek brushes against his prostate and keens high and long when he does it again, harder. Stiles sees stars, and he’s bucking his hips wildly against Derek, whose control is slipping hard. Gone are the languid strokes and tightly reined in power of just a few moments ago. Derek fucks into him, hard and fast, his fingers like a brand where they clutch Stiles’ hips. Stiles is babbling but he doesn’t care, it feels too good.

 

“Ah, ah, Derekderekderek, please, harder!” he moans against Derek’s mouth, and Derek makes a noise like he’d been hit in the solar plexus. He slides out of Stiles and puts him on the ground, turning him around once more before he’s sliding inside again. Stiles spreads his legs and braces his hands against the wall, wanton and uncaring; his dick is so hard and he hasn’t even touched it.

 

Derek fucks him satisfyingly hard, reaching around and using his big hands to stroke Stiles in time to his almost punishing thrusts. Stiles feels his release building with his whole body, his toes curl and his spine curves up. He brings one hand to cover his mouth,

 

“Derek, I’m coming…I’m..I….” the rest of his words are lost in the moan that escapes him as he comes all over Derek’s hand. Even muffled by his hand, he’s loud.

 

“ _Jesus…_ ” Derek swears. His grip on Stiles hips is still firm, he pistons frantically while Stiles rides the waves of his orgasm. The clenching of his walls around Derek must be too much because he comes soon after Stiles does, groaning in his deep voice and biting down on Stiles’ shoulder while he does.

 

 

* * *

 

Outside the bathroom, the rave is still going on in full swing. Stiles thinks they must not have spent too long in the bathroom until he looks at the time on his phone. It had taken an hour.

 

He’s pleasantly aware of the ache settling into his muscles, and of the mild sheen of sweat that makes the strobe lights limning Derek’s exposed skin seem as if he was glowing. Derek’s hair is tousled in an unmistakable way and it gives Stiles no end of satisfaction to see the looks people give them as they pass.

 

“So,” Stiles says, easy smile still on his face, “that was totally awesome.”

Derek does a sort of grunt/laugh that is somehow still sexy and suddenly Stiles is struck dumb by just how good looking the man is.  

 

 _Ah shit._ He thinks.

 

Before he can say anything else, Lydia bounces up to him with Jackson, Danny and Jack Blonde bringing up the rear. Her sharp eyes take in Stiles “cat-got-the-cream” smirk and Derek’s rumpled clothes and hair before she nods her head in approval,

 

“Good for you. We’re going, I think the cops are about to raid.” She says, and then the group is gone, ambling towards the parking lot. Stiles rolls his eyes but is already searching for Scott and Allison since he’s their ride and can’t very well book it without them.

 

He spots Scott shouldering his way through the crowd towards him, Allison in tow. He waves at him and Scott waves back,.

 

While he waits for them to reach him, he’s hyperaware of Derek’s solid presence behind him. He’s been silent the entire time, content to lean against the wall and fix his gaze on Stiles.

 

“So…Derek…” Stiles tries to say something again, because he doesn’t feel that he wants to just leave it and go home. But he doesn’t know what he wants to say, he’s always been bad with wording things right when it really matters. For a minute, he fidgets and toys with his lower lip, worrying it to redness. He knows Scott must be close and he doesn’t have much time, but the words aren’t coming.

 

“I…” he starts saying, but finds himself grabbed around the waist and pulled up against the solid wall of Derek’s body. The look on Derek’s handsome face seems designed to melt people’s clothes off and Stiles can already feel desire, burning hot, burst fantastically to life inside him. He shivers and Derek’s smile is dark, predatory, positively devilish;

 

“It looks like this is goodbye” he says, and he’s moving closer and closer to Stiles, whose lids have gone half-mast. He bites his lip again and then Derek is kissing him, hard. His tongue licks into Stiles’ mouth and one hand cups the back of his head, the other is splayed possessively over his ass. Stiles presses against him, threads his fingers through Derek’s dark hair, and generally forgets where they are until someone coughs pointedly behind them. Slowly, he breaks apart, slightly dazed and more than a little aroused.

 

“Hey man, sorry to…ah…interrupt. But Lydia said the cops are coming or something, they’re all going back to Jackson’s.” Scott looks amused and Allison is doing a terrible job at hiding her smile, which Stiles objects to because he can’t even count how many times he’s caught the two of them at it. He rolls his eyes,

 

“Alright, alright” he grouses, but then realizes that Derek still has a hold around his waist and gets pink in the cheeks.

 

“This…uh…this is Derek.” He says. All joking aside, Scott looks seriously at Derek and shakes his hand firmly, Allison smiles at him and Stiles feels a little like he’s just introduced someone to his parents.

 

Derek seems okay though, still resting his hands comfortably on Stiles’ hips.

 

“Alright, we better get moving,” Stiles says, unwilling to leave just yet. “I’ll…I…here…you don’t have to use it or anything but…here.” He rummages in his pocket and finds a crumpled up receipt, Allison is already handing him a pen that he uses to scribble his name, number, and email on the thin paper.

 

“You guys go on outside, I’ll be there in a minute” Stiles tells them, and they go outside, leaving him alone with Derek again. Stiles thrusts the receipt at Derek, not quite able to meet his eyes,

 

“its my number and stuff…if you ever wanted to…you know…again…”

 

Derek wraps his hand around Stiles outstretched one and takes the receipt from him, tucking it carefully into his pocket. And then he kisses Stiles, long and deep and plundering. He kisses him until Stiles’ knees are weak and his breath is coming out in gasps. Then he straightens, his own breathing harsh and fast, the way he looks at Stiles is the way wolves must look at their prey.

 

“Go, your friends are waiting.” He says, his voice rough. Stiles turns to leave but Derek catches his wrist, his big hands closing around it. Stiles looks back at him and his gaze is full of the same unmistakable intent as they had been earlier,

 

“We _will_ meet again.” Derek says plainly.

 

Stiles doesn’t doubt it for a second.


End file.
